The Sour Note Marching Band
by Flourishing Twilight
Summary: When Dumbledore finally flips his lid and decides to open a marching band at Hogwarts, everything turns ugly.
1. Dumbledore Loses What He Never Had

Disclaimer: I own nothing but a beat-up horn named Franny.  
  
The Beginning  
  
It was like every other day at Hogwarts. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, Snape was harpooning. Ah, the beauty of it all. To Harry, Ron, and Hermione their last year would be their greatest. With Quidditch already zipping through their minds, they were ecstatic about their seventh year.  
  
Hermione was, of course, still a prefect and top in her class.  
  
Ron was the sexiest man alive.  
  
Harry forgot if he was wearing underwear-I mean, Harry was basking in the sunlight.  
  
Yet unknown to them, danger was lurking. And that danger was none other than Dumbledore. Yes, Dumbledore seemed innocent to the others, but his mind was missing a few marbles. It wasn't even apparent to the students until he got drunk and danced under the tables instead of on top of them and was knocked unconscious for several days. That was a great party.  
  
Anywho, Dumbledore, though brain-dead, wanted the oldest students to learn a very interesting subject that year at Hogwarts. They had learned how to do magic, but what if they lost their wands or something else that would probably never happen? What would they do then? It was time for them to learn a very important talent....  
  
"Hey you guys," Ron said, staring at the clouds and picturing little penguins (dancing in the breeze of course), "What is a marshstring brand?"  
  
"A what?" Harry asked, looking at Ron.  
  
"You know, the class we have to take this year? I've never heard of it before."  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. "You mean a marching band, right?"  
  
"What?" Ron asked.  
  
"A marching band."  
  
"A marshsting-"  
  
"Marching-"  
  
"Mashring-"  
  
"Marching-"  
  
"Marshmallow-"  
  
"MARCHING." Hermione said through her teeth.  
  
It was very quiet for many seconds. Some moose ran by.  
  
"Band." Ron whispered. "Well, what is it?"  
  
Hermione pondered. "I don't know. I went through Muggle Studies, and I know what marching is, but why would it be like an elastic band? I don't understand how it's going to help us at any way in the Wizarding World."  
  
"Well," Harry chimed in, "I hope it doesn't have anything to do with underwater basket weaving."  
  
Meanwhile Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle were sitting in the Slytherin lounge- thingy when the same subject happened to wander by.  
  
"Crabbe" Draco said, looking at the large boy, "what was that subject you were drawling about not too long ago?"  
  
Crabbe began to think. "Oh," he exclaimed, "you mean that same subject that just happened to wander by?" (Author smiles)  
  
"...Yes."  
  
"I was talking about how we were going to be in a marching band next year."  
  
"A what?"  
  
"A marching band. You know, you have instruments and you play them?"  
  
Draco smiled craftily. "Instruments of DOOM!?!"  
  
"No, not instruments like 'wands.' Instruments like musical instruments."  
  
"Oh."  
  
It was quiet for a long time. Some guy with a moose walked by.  
  
"Well," Draco finally exclaimed, "I don't know what you're talking about, but at least we'll still have Quidditch."  
  
**Two months later at the Seventh year first meeting  
  
"NO QUIDDITCH!!" Harry screamed. It was part of the worst news he had ever received in his life.  
  
"That's right, Harry." Dumbledore smiled. "We must devote all of our time to marching."  
  
"But-but-" Harry stammered, "I don't even know what a marching band is!"  
  
"That's what you're here to learn!" Dumbledore screamed, doing a little jig. "A marching band is a group of people who play instruments that march with them at the same time! It's very difficult and takes almost three years to get it right!"  
  
"Then...why are we doing it?" Hermione asked.  
  
"Because it will help you in the future."  
  
Hermione gave an inquisitive look. "But how-"  
  
"IT WILL HELP YOU IN THE FUTURE." Dumbledore said in an extremely, yet scary voice. The clouds darkened. People scurried.  
  
"Now" Dumbledore smiled, "to assign your instruments. Usually instruments are assigned by how well you can make a noise on the mouthpiece. I think that's a bunch of crock. So the sorting hat will choose."  
  
"But sir," Hermione frowned, "The sorting hat is on vacation."  
  
"...Right." Dumbledore made a face as if he was thinking. "Well, then I guess we will just have to use his cousin."  
  
"The sorting hat has a cousin?" Ron asked.  
  
"...Of course he does." Dumbledore said, sweat drops starting to pour down his face. Slowly he took off his mitten from behind his back. "The sorting MITTEN!" Dumbledore tried to talk from the side of his mouth saying in a very squeaky, high pitched voice, "HELLLLLOOOO boys and girls!"  
  
Everyone was quiet.  
  
Snape was looking very confused. "Um, sir-"  
  
"Anywho!" Dumbledore exclaimed, looking at the mitten. "Are you ready to pick their instruments?"  
  
"Am I ready? AM I READY? Does a bear pee in the woods? Does a hobbit have hairy feet?" The "sorting mitten" exclaimed.  
  
One by one, each seventh year was given an instrument by the mystical mitten. The instruments somehow didn't seem to fit the students just right...  
  
Dumbledore walked passed Hermione. "FLUTE!" The high-pitched voice screamed.  
  
Hermione blushed. "Sir, I really think that I should have something else."  
  
"You question the mitten?"  
  
The students began to giggle. "It's not that, it's just that...well, there's this muggle movie that talks about this girl.." She began whispering the rest in Dumbledore's ear.  
  
Dumbledore began to laugh. "That's ridiculous! I mean, I've put that flute in worse places than that!"  
  
The world was scared.  
  
But the instruments got worse. Ron was given french horn, Harry was given the symbol, Seamus got the saxophone, Crabbe got the drums, Goyle was given the clairinet, and the list went on and on.  
  
But the worst of all was Draco's. When Dumbledore walked by, he screamed, "TUBA!"  
  
After the meeting, everyone went back to their rooms, realizing that this year wasn't going to be too great. What were they possibly going to do? Play in the Band? The Band would take all of the fun out of their lives. It would crush them. Quidditch was what the world yearned for. Snape did talk Dumbledore into at least reconsidering that awful deal.  
  
Still, the wizarding world wasn't ready for something as crazy as a marching band. 


	2. The Confusions Begin

Disclaimer: Franny has a dent again. Still, I own her.  
  
Chappie Dose...Dos...Number Two  
  
As the clothing crashed through the window and into the room, Ginny awoke with a start. She felt as if she were receiving an unusual wake up call for class, but when she turned her drowsy eyes to the clock, it read 3:21(.476) A.M. She let out a groan, and walked towards the window, looking out. To put it majestically, her llama undies shined in the moonlight.  
  
When she glanced towards the ground, she noticed a shadowy figure. She was startled, but with one swift movement, he ran behind the lawn gnome, and almost disappeared.  
  
Ginny then grabbed the piece of clothing that had invaded her dorm. She realized it was a very wooly sweater with her initial on the front. In fact, it looked exactly like a sweater her mother would sew for her. In it, there was a sticky note, and something very awkward.  
  
The note read: We need more for the order  
You have been chosen  
This is your instrument  
Meet at the next seventh year meeting  
-The Mitten  
  
Ginny picked up the strange looking object. It was very long, dark black (almost aqua black) and had strange holes in the sides. It reminded her of a tampon incident gone bad. She shuddered.  
  
Then she let out a terrifying gasp. It was all becoming clear to her now! The order, chosen! This was from Voldemort himself. He obviously needed more Death Eaters for his eevil (so evil it needed two e's) plan to take over the wizarding world and kill Harry. Obviously the strange piece of...whatever was a weapon to kill Harry and the others.  
  
She took a quick glance over the instrument again. Yes, it did look very evil. Very evil indeed. Suddenly, Ginny heard more glass shatter. He was giving these weapons to other students as well! He was trying to change them all into eevil demons!  
  
Quickly she ran out of the room and noticed all of the sixth years standing in a circle. They were hoarsely whispering and some were yelling at others. Ginny noticed that they had also received weapons. Some of the weapons were made of some form of brass, while others were like hers, small and had the tampon issue.  
  
She jumped into the center and said, "Calm down! It's okay, it's okay! The Death Eaters or even Voldemort himself must have broken into the school and given these out. He wants to change us against our own friends! We won't go down without a fight! We'll refuse to go to the meeting, it's obviously a trap!"  
  
It was very quiet for a few seconds. Then one of the students, with strange freckles and a mole under the nose, yelled, "But what should we do? We'll surely be killed!"  
  
Ginny began to look at the ground. "The first thing we must do is keep this secret, especially to Dumbledore. He's already off his rocker, and if you say that Voldemort broke in, he'll be put under even more stress. Should he or anyone mention anything about this, we will say we know nothing! Also, we can't tell the Seventh Years either. If they know their lives are in danger, the school could break into total panic."  
  
Ginny paused for a moment, and then a great idea entered her little mind. "I've decided that we will secretly go to this meeting, and should any trouble come, we will try to fight it. Is everyone agreed?"  
  
Everyone quietly nodded. Suddenly another voice emerged. "But what does "The Mitten" mean?"  
  
Ginny shook her head. "I don't know, but it couldn't possibly be anything good for us. It may have something to do with the food, so whatever you do, dodge every pastry and baked goods for the next few weeks until the meeting comes."  
  
With that, Ginny closed with a few words about the reservation of the rubber trees, and they all went back to their dorms.  
  
Try as they might, they couldn't obtain any sleep.  
  
*~*  
  
Meanwhile, Harry had talked Dumbledore into bringing Quidditch back. It took an hour of persuasion, a macaroni painting of the Mona Lisa, and even a foot massage, but Harry finally broke Dumbledore down.  
  
"Harry, I'll bring Quidditch back, but you won't be playing." Dumbledore smiled. "I'm going to make you as well as the other Quidditch players train the others how to play and say that the Seventh's can't play because of a fluctuation in unibrow nutrition."  
  
"But, sir-"  
  
"Don't try to talk me out of it!" Dumbledore giggled. "I can't be easily broken down. And don't tell any of the Fifth years about the band. You can only talk to the Sixth Years because they will also be in our marching band. I want you, as well as the others to encourage them to come to the meetings so we can get started. I already passed out their instruments while you were eating Mona's left macaroni breast."  
  
Harry blushed, "Sir, I-"  
  
"Yeah, you thought I wouldn't notice! Oh Harry, will you ever understand that I will always have better brains than you?" Dumbledore smiled.  
  
"Sir, let's hope that's never the case." Harry stammered. "And about this "band" nonsense. What's our name? Do we even have a name?"  
  
"Of course we have a name!" Dumbledore protested, his eyebrows raised. "I'm just not ready to tell you yet. By the way, I have considered a mime show."  
  
"A mime show? Professor, that makes no sense. If we have musical instruments, why are we going to be-"  
  
"It shall all be revealed later!" Dumbledore cried, his arms raised as light shined from his glistening pruny body. "Do not worry about these things Harry. Everything will be revealed all in due time!"  
  
With that Harry left. He silently strode back to his room. He was thinking about what he would tell Ron when he got back. Did he really want Ron to know that Dumbledore had finally gone insane? That he wouldn't be seeing the last season of Quidditch.  
  
He entered. Ron sat up in his bed eager to hear the news. "What did he say, Harry?" Ron asked.  
  
Harry looked up. "Oh nothing really. First he talked about underwater basketweaving-"  
  
Ron gasped. "He's not going to make us do that too is he?"  
  
"No, but he was thinking about it. Luckily, I was there to stop him." Harry said, pushing out his chest so that his bear pajamas didn't seem too noticeable.  
  
"That's just like you Harry, always there to save the day!" Ron beamed. Suddenly, he looked at Harry's face. "Harry, is that a...macaroni noodle hanging from your lip?"  
  
Harry broke out into a sweat. "M-m-macaroni?" He stammered, wiping at his face, "No, no, don't be ridiculous. It was...spit. Yeah, spit!"  
  
Ron frowned, "Did you and Dumbledore talk about the flute again?"  
  
"Eew, no! Besides that was all a misunderstanding. I just simply asked Dumbledore where it was supposed to go, and he shoved it up-"  
  
NOTE: The rest of this conversation has been deleted due to the safety and\or stomachs of others. He was saying he snowed it up, and you read it wrong, you nasty pervert. Anywho, this chapter is over.  
  
The moose were left out for a funnier chapter and a rainy day. 


	3. Fertita

Disclaimer: all disclaimers have sadly passed away.  
  
Chapter Three  
  
With thousands of hours behind her, Mrs. Weasley kept sewing faster than a herd of turtles trampling through a pile of peanut butter. She had originally had her magic sewing for her, but there was a devilishly good revolt among the underwear, so she had to continue on her own. She wouldn't have even been doing it if Dumbledore hadn't requested. I mean, once she heard about the unibrow fluctuation, how could she refuse?  
  
Then suddenly without notice, the door burst open. Dumbledore strode in, carrying a huge brown sack behind him. With a few steps, and a little jig, he finally resigned to his old velvet chair.  
  
"How are things, Mrs. Weasley?" He asked, wiping the sweat from his brow.  
  
"Oh, just jimmy," she said, putting a false smile upon her face. To be honest, she was about to fall over from all of the sewing. "What's in the bag?" She puffed from between breaths.  
  
Dumbledore's face seemed to glow at that moment. "Well," he gleamed, "I was hoping you would ask that." And with one quick gesture, he pulled the bag open and dumped its contents onto the floor.  
  
Mrs. Weasley stopped her sewing and gasped. "Dumbledore, who is this? I hope it's a relative, because maybe then this would be funny-"  
  
Dumbledore let out a loud, frightening cackle as lightning flashed simultaneously. "Oh, no. This is actually a band man."  
  
"...A what?"  
  
"A-Band-Director. One who instructs those in the ways of music."  
  
There was a silence. "Well, why is he here?" Mrs. Weasley scoffed slowly.  
  
"Because, you silly goose, we can't have band without one. Surely, you didn't think I knew anything about band."  
  
Silence.  
  
Dumbledore coughed. "Well, I don't. Therefore, I will bring him to the meeting tomorrow and he will teach us everything we need to know."  
  
Silence once again.  
  
"By the way, you could have stopped sewing thirty-two hours ago when I left to throw them through windows." He smiled.  
  
That was about the point when Mrs. Weasley made that face. THE FACE. You know, the one that started Pearl Harbor and the Holocaust. That's right, Hitler wasn't alone.  
  
Well, the face started slowly from just an eye-twitch to an all out rage. Her face grew purple, and she grabbed one of the sweaters with two moose frolicking in the snow.  
  
"Oh, what a lovely swe-" Dumbledore began, but the heads were quickly chewed off, and the arms began flying.  
  
Dumbledore scurried. He took the body with him. He barely made it out alive, but sadly the moose were left behind.  
  
THE NEXT DAY  
  
THE MEETING  
  
6:00 P.M.  
  
62 Degrees and Clear, with the exception of strong winds.  
  
Harry walked across the Quidditch fields a few minutes before he was originally meant to be there. He missed the view, the feeling, and the smell of the bludger as it practically changed you into a unich.  
  
As he began to reminisce, he noticed Ginny standing only a few feet away. She must be here for the meeting, he thought, noticing her making strange symbols to other Sixth Years from where she was.  
  
He came up behind her and gave her a quick tap on the shoulder. "Hey Ginny!"  
  
Ginny screamed, ran in a circle, fell over, got back up, screamed, and yelped, "Tapioca!"  
  
She then saw it was Harry and tried to regain her cool. "Oh, Harry. It's just you." She stammered.  
  
"What's up?" He asked.  
  
Ginny's eyes grew wide. "N-nothing, what are you talking about, why would anything be up?"  
  
"Well, I don't know. I figured you would be doing something tonight. Did you forget about the meeting?"  
  
"Meeting? I don't know what you're talking about, we don't-I mean, I don't- I mean what I said that you said that I meant that I don't, that's what!" She exploded, running off to the other side of the field. When she found the others, she told them to only attack if anything looked suspicious.  
  
Something's not right, Harry thought. He thought maybe he offended, but after a sniff was wrong, so he sat down and waited for the others.  
  
After only ten minutes, the entire Seventh Year class was there, but there weren't any Sixth Years to be found. Dumbledore soon arrived with a very strange looking guy.  
  
"Hello everyone!" He took a quick look around. "Where are the Sixth Years?"  
  
"I don't know," Harry stammered, "I asked Ginny about the meeting, and she acted like it wasn't even a reality."  
  
"Well," Dumbledore pondered, "I guess we'll just have to start anyway. I would like everyone to meet Mr.Fertita. He is from America and is a very esteemed Band Director. He is here to train us into becoming a great band."  
  
Mr. Tortilla, who was abnormally tall and thin, quickly stood once his name was announced. He was very handsome, with sandy hair and big, green eyes. "Hello." He smiled, though his smile seemed to be forced. He looked like he was very stern instead of kind, and that took some of the students aback.  
  
To the sixth years, Mr. Fertati seemed very...suspicious.  
  
"Um, professor," Draco began, trying to balance his tuba, "Is he...one of us?"  
  
"Yes, of course I am." Turtle tot smiled. "I happen to be a trumpet player!"  
  
Everyone looked around. Many thought that he meant he was a pimp.  
  
When no one spoke, Dumbledore broke in. "Don't worry, everything will be explained soon. First, Kevin is going to put everyone in their place. He knows that we've never attempted this, and none of us are experienced in this. And no, Draco, he isn't."  
  
Harry gasped. Ron gasped. Ginny gasped. Some guy in Finland dropped his ice cream.  
  
"But don't worry!" Dumbledore whispered, so that Mr. Fer-uh-Fair- Tor....Kevin couldn't hear. "I've told him that we are a very average school, and we don't do magic. So, whatever you do, don't break our cover...or I will have to kill him."  
  
Meanwhile, on the other side of the field Ginny and the others knew as well that he was a muggle. They always smell like quail, you know? Quickly, they came together and planned a secret attack on him after the meeting.  
  
"I think it's great that we have an instructor," Ron said, "But sir, what's the name of our band?"  
  
Dumbledore turned. "Our name? We have no name."  
  
"NO NAME!?" Ron gasped. "Sir, that doesn't make any sense!"  
  
Suddenly Dumbledore faced Ron. He had a nice hat turned backwards with some nice bling-bling. "I don't know dude. I think everyone's all jealous and stuff cuz I'm like the leader of a band dude  
  
And I think everyone's got a problem with me dude.  
  
And they need to take it up with me after the show..."  
  
"Um, sir-"  
  
"These chicks don't even know the name of my band.  
  
But they're all on me like they wanna hold hands.  
  
Cuz once I blow they know that i'll be the man.  
  
All because I'm the leader of my band."  
  
"Sir, there are no "Chicks" of which you speak-"  
  
But that didn't stop him. The bling-bling began to shimmer. A boom box appeared. "So I get off stage right and drop the mic  
  
Walk up to the hot chicks and I'm all like  
  
"Sup shorty, my name's dumbledorey"  
  
I'm the leader in No Band baby  
  
They're all like "Oh my god it's him"  
  
"Becky oh my god it's him"  
  
"I swear to god dude you rock"  
  
"Pleas please let me :CENSOR:"  
  
And by now the rest of the fellas get jealous  
  
Especially when I drop the beat and do my acapellas"  
  
Everyone's ears began to bleed. Snape was banging his head against some random wall. "Please, stop!"  
  
"All the chicks start yellin', all the hot babes  
  
Throw their bras and their shirt and their panties on stage  
  
So like every single night they pick a fight with me  
  
But when we fight it's kinda like sibling rivalry  
  
Cuz they're back on stage the next night with me  
  
Dude I just think you're tryna steal the light from me  
  
Yesterday Kuniva tried to pull a knife on me  
  
Cause I told him Jessica Alba's my wife to be  
  
This rock star stuff, it's the life for me."  
  
And so that was the way it was for a few days. Several students made it through, but like the sweater, they died on the front. Some say that it was the only day Dumbledore really lived.  
  
Some can't tell the tale.  
  
Still, it makes you wonder where he got the silly song.... 


End file.
